Sometimes It's Found While Stirring Noodles

There are nights when dinner feels like one more decision you have to make.

That was me tonight.

It had been a long day, and I stood in front of the pantry wondering what sounded good.

I wasn't craving anything in particular, just something easy. Something different.

I pulled an individual chicken breast out of the freezer.

Good start.

A few days earlier, I'd picked up a new seasoning from Fire & Smoke Society called Chicka Licka Bam Bam. The name immediately made me think of Chuy's "Chicka Chicka Boom Boom," and honestly... that was reason enough for me to buy it.

Chicken? Check.

Now what about a side?

Vegetables? Nope.

Rice? Nope.

Noodles? Yes.

The moment I reached for a box of elbow noodles, I wasn't just making dinner anymore.

I was remembering my cousin Lori.

Growing up, Lori loved beef noodles.

I can't even begin to count the number of times we made them.

It was one of those simple meals that always seemed to find its way onto the stove, and somehow it always tasted like home.

We never made anything fancy.

Just elbow noodles with enough water left in the pot to create a light broth, then 2–3 beef bouillon cubes stirred in until they melted.

That was it.

Back then we used beef bouillon granules, and I have to confess... I'd sneak a granule or two every now and then because I loved the flavor. 😂

These days, the cubes are much easier to find, I find myself missing those granules...

As I stood there stirring the noodles tonight, I realized I hadn't just made dinner.

I'd revisited a piece of my childhood.

Funny how something as simple as a familiar recipe can bring back the people who helped shape our lives.

It reminded me that some of the moments we treasure most aren't the extraordinary ones.

They're the ordinary Tuesday nights...

The meals we made without thinking.

The recipes someone shared with us years ago.

The conversations around the table.

The memories we don't realize we're carrying until a familiar smell or taste brings them rushing back.

Maybe that's one of life's quiet gifts.

The ordinary moments have a way of slowing us down long enough to remember.

To smile.

To be grateful.

To reconnect with pieces of ourselves we haven't thought about in years.

I think that's part of what Rising Calm is becoming.

Not a place that promises a perfect life, but one that reminds us to notice the beauty that's often been there all along.

Because sometimes...

it's found while stirring noodles.